


Ev

by YellowMustard



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Coming Out, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor swears, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gay, Healing, Larry Murphy Tries (Dear Evan Hansen), Larry actually being a good dad, M/M, Recovery, Treebros, he's stupid but he tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 03:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMustard/pseuds/YellowMustard
Summary: A late-night phone conversation. An eavesdropping father.“OK, yeah. It’s late. I can pick you up on the way to school tomorrow if you want? Yeah, OK…Love you too, Ev.”Larry heads to bed, mentally churning through every “Ev” name he knows – Evelyn? Eva? Evangeline?Cynthia rolls over as he climbs into bed, and slurs out a sleepy “It’s late.”“Ev,” says Larry. “Ev, who’s Ev?”(Or: Connor's in love. Larry's clueless. But trying.)





	Ev

**Author's Note:**

> I boarded the treebros fic writing train and now I CAN'T GET OFF. THIS IS BECOMING AN ADDICTION. SOMEONE STOP ME.
> 
> Disclaimer: I LOVE me some asshole Larry fics. Love em. But I watched the bootleg again the other day and that bit where Larry breaks down in You Will Be Found just destroys me. I think that if given the opportunity Larry would be a really good dad. He makes some pretty dumb decisions, but I think he does genuinely care about Connor a lot.
> 
> So I decided to write another Healing Connor oneshot (YES another one), this time from Larry's perspective. Which was A CHALLENGE. I don't know how to write middle aged men lmao. I did my best.
> 
> Treebros will pretty much always be endgame for me, though it's not as much the focus of this one as it was in Butterfly Soup. I may or may not be writing the um. Very Smutty Prequel. To Butterfly Soup though. Ayyyeeeee
> 
> No real trigger warnings; Connor swears. 
> 
> https://theyellowestmustard.tumblr.com/

* * *

Larry Murphy’s son has been to school, without complaint, every single day for the past three weeks.

This would be considered normal for most high school students, Larry supposes. But when it came to Connor things have always been... decidedly more difficult.

Larry hadn't actually realised that Connor's not been skipping class until he's checking his emails on a Monday morning. He's started the week in a foul mood, because it's Monday, and the Clarke v Clarke case he's been working on for months isn't going according to plan, and the new intern has messed up his coffee order, so when he sees the .edu email in his inbox, he immediately readies himself for the worst. Connor’s been caught with drugs at school again, or he’s on academic probation _again,_ or he’s gotten into a fight _again._ Which means that when he gets home after work there’ll be another screaming match because Connor never goes down without a fight, and it will end with Cynthia in tears and _both_ of his children refusing to talk to him, and Larry’s exhausted already.

But the email is just some stock-standard reminder sent out to the school community about a career’s fair for seniors in a few weeks.

There’s no mention of Connor at all.

And it’s only then that it dawns on Larry that there’s been no mention of Connor from the school in some time, no tardy or truancy slips, no unexplained absences, nothing.

Which can only mean that, for some reason, Connor has actually been going to school every day.

When he gets home, he quietly mentions this to Cynthia as she unloads the dishwasher.

She shrugs and smiles.

“Don’t argue with a good thing, Larry,” she says mildly.

Arguing is a hard habit for Larry to break.

* * *

The next time Larry notices something is different, changing, is when he goes to take a shower after work the following Monday evening. But when he tugs on the door handle, he finds it locked, and he can faintly hear the shower running inside.

Frowning, he heads back downstairs and into the kitchen, where Cynthia is organizing dinner.

“I thought Zoe was at band practice until six?” he asks.

“She is?” Cynthia responds, looking puzzled.

Larry frowns.

“Somebody is in the shower.”

Cynthia gives him a rather bemused little smile, and speaks very slowly, as though Larry is a complete moron.

“You have a son, Larry.”

Larry rolls his eyes before he can stop himself.

“I’m aware of that, Cynthia. But…didn’t he take a shower before school this morning?”

Cynthia gives a long-suffering sigh and says, “Well, he’s having another one, then. I really don’t see the problem.”

“No, there’s no problem. I just…”

It was just that Connor’s appearance had, for years now, been sloppy, in Larry’s opinion. He was used to seeing his teenage son slumped at the breakfast table, unwashed, his straggly hair greasy and visibly tangled. He usually smelt strongly of pot, and often wore the same T-shirt three, four, five days in a row. It was yet another aspect of his son that he and Cynthia often had arguments about, arguments that got worse when Connor himself got involved – _Connor, you’re an adult, you need to take care of your personal hygiene,_ and _what do you mean there’s no point, _and _don’t take that tone with me, Connor._

Since when did his son take multiple showers in one day?

Who was he trying to impress?

* * *

Things have been quiet in the Murphy household lately.

It almost makes Larry feel…uncomfortable. As though they’re all sitting in the eye of the storm that is Connor.

Cynthia’s over the moon, overjoyed that Connor doesn’t antagonize his sister at the table quite as often these days, that he got a 95 on his most recent paper in English, that he has a friend around every once in a while (a soft-spoken boy with a constantly fearful expression, who’s name Larry’s forgotten). Connor’s not perfect, but he’s just doing _so_ much better, don’t you think, Larry?

Larry wants to believe that Connor is getting better. He _wants_ his son to be happy. He really does.

But it’s hard for him to trust it.

He goes about his usual routines. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and everyone’s still asleep. Larry’s in the garage, rummaging through his toolkit for a drill bit that's the right size. Zoe’s new ukulele is on his work bench in front of him; she’d asked Larry for help drilling a hole in the base so she can attach a strap. His daughter is very clever, and talented in many areas, but he absolutely would _not_ trust Zoe Murphy with power tools.

He marks the spot where the hole needs to go, examines the button Zoe’s asked him to screw in, picks up his drill and is just about to start, when a quiet voice cuts through the silence of the open space.

“Um. Hey.”

Larry sets down the drill and turns to see his son, barefoot and still wearing flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt, shuffling awkwardly in the doorway that leads to the house.

This is new.

“You’re up early,” Larry says, because it’s true.

Connor shrugs. He glances around the garage, eyes finally settling on Zoe’s ukulele, with the drill right next to it.

“I thought wrecking Zoe’s stuff was my job,” he says.

It takes a moment for Larry to realize that his son is… _kidding around with him?_

He manages a chuckle.

“Thought perhaps I’d give it a go. Got any tips for your old man?”

Connor chuckles a bit, too.

“Sledgehammer’d be faster, probably. Depends if you wanna ruin her life nice and quick, or like…really savor it.”

Larry laughs again, a genuine laugh this time, because Connor is _funny_ , actually funny when the dark cloud isn’t hanging over him.

The garage goes quiet. It’s cold. Connor rocks back and forth, from his toes to his heels and back again.

“Did you…need something?” Larry asks.

Connor stills.

“Um. Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

“…Well?”

Connor takes a deep breath, then lets it all out and says, “Can I have my door back?”

Larry gives Connor a long, measured look.

“I’ve…I’ve been doing better. You _know_ I’ve been doing better. Like…OK, I’ve still been smoking, and I know I’m still a fuckup, but I’m _trying._ And I’m not gonna try any stupid shit again. At least, I don’t think I am. Not right now, anyway. And if I do, you can take the door back, OK?”

Larry takes all this in.

Then deposits the drill into Connor’s arms.

Connor looks bewildered, but takes it.

Larry goes back to the workbench and digs around in his toolbox. He hands Connor a screwdriver, then taps at his fingers until he opens them, and tips a handful of screws into his palm. He heads to the rear of the garage, lifts with his knees and not his back, and returns to Connor’s side, waddling as he bears the weight of the painted wooden door.

Connor just stares at him.

“Hurry up,” Larry grunts. “It’s heavy, Connor.”

* * *

Cynthia brings it up that evening. In retrospect, Larry supposes he should have run the door situation past her first, but there wasn’t much point; she’d never agreed with removing it in the first place.

“I thought he made a good case for himself,” Larry justifies, as he settles onto the sofa. “He’s not a child anymore, he needs his privacy.”

And Cynthia’s smiling and nodding away, but he suddenly notices something secretive and amused in her eyes, like she’s in on a joke he doesn’t understand.

“He’s only asked for his door back because of that girl. He’ll be on the phone all the time, now,” Cynthia says, motherly affection blooming in her voice.

Larry nearly chokes on his whiskey.

“Connor has a _girlfriend_?”

Cynthia giggles.

“Well, no. Not yet. Not that I know of. But I give it a month. Our boy is absolutely smitten. Who do you think he’s been going to school to see every day? Who do you think he’s been trying to look good for?”

Cynthia always seems to know things Larry doesn’t. He’s not sure if he likes it.

* * *

It’s almost 2am on a school night, and Connor should _not_ still be awake.

Larry has some deadlines to meet, so he’s been up late working, and he’s already kicking himself as he thinks about how tired he’s going to be at the office tomorrow. He heads to bed, feeling the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders, when he passes Connor’s room, and notices the light peaking out from under the door, and hears Connor talking softly, and there’s no other voice and long pauses between the sentences, so he must be on the phone.

Larry’s first thought is that he should tell Connor to go to bed.

His next thought is that he is a grown man and grown men do _not_ eavesdrop.

He freezes outside Connor’s door and listens.

“Shut up,” Connor’s saying, but there’s no malice in it; he sounds embarrassed and awkward and just. Completely infatuated.

“Shut _up_ , _oh my god._ I’m not. No I’m _not._ I’m _ugly._ ”

"Mystery girl" talks for a while.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Connor says, and Larry makes a mental note to talk to his son about using respectful language when speaking to young ladies.

“OK, yeah. It’s late. I can pick you up on the way to school tomorrow if you want? Yeah, OK…Love you too, Ev.”

Ev.

_Ev._

Larry heads to bed, mentally churning through every “Ev” name he knows – _Evelyn? Eva? Evangeline?_

Cynthia rolls over as he climbs into bed, and slurs out a sleepy “It’s late.”

“Ev,” says Larry. “Ev, who’s Ev?”

“What’sgoinon?” Cynthia is still mostly asleep. Larry’s never felt more awake in his life.

“It’s not just a crush. They’re…together. Connor’s dating someone. It’s Ev.”

And Cynthia, drifting off, vaguely mumbles “Oh…that makes sense.”

* * *

The following day, Larry gets up early. He’s barely slept, thanks to Cynthia’s cryptic remark, and he’d wanting to wake her and ask, but unfortunately, she sleeps like the dead.

He’s resolved to ask Connor about Ev before he goes to school.

He is his _father_ , he deserves to know the kinds of relationships his son is in and the people he’s involving himself with. Connor used the word _love,_ so it seems like this thing is getting pretty serious.

And Larry can’t help but worry that the reason Connor hasn’t mentioned a word about Ev is that there’s something he’s trying to hide.

He finds Connor in front of the bathroom mirror, both arms up as he pulls his hair into a bun. It turns out a bit lumpy, and this apparently isn’t good enough for Connor’s newfound standards, so he unties it and tries again.

His jeans look new, and he’s wearing a hoodie without a single hole in it. There’s a slight shine to his mouth; he’s wearing chapstick.

The bun works out the second time, and Connor runs a critical eye over his appearance, straightening his hoodie and brushing invisible dust from his jeans.

It’s only then that he notices Larry’s reflection as he stands in the doorway, and jumps about a mile in the air.

“Jesus fuck!” He yelps, and Larry, on autopilot, says, “Language, Connor.”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” says Larry.

Larry shuffles uncomfortably in the doorway, and when he catches sight of his reflection, realizes just how much Connor’s mannerisms mirror his own.

“Leaving early today?”

“Yeah. I’m picking up. Um. A friend. Giving em a ride to school.”

“A friend.”

“Yep.” Connor pops the ‘p’, deliberately casual, but suddenly nothing about him looks casual at all. He’s fiddling nervously with a loose thread on his sleeve, frowning.

“We’re uh. Probably going out together tonight too, so. Don’t expect me back till late.”

Larry follows Connor’s lead, keeps his tone deliberately casual.

“Is it…a date?”

Connor shrugs, but his cheeks darken.

“What’s her name?” Larry asks, although he already knows the answer. Well, part of it at least.

What Larry doesn’t expect is for Connor to suddenly look absolutely terrified. His breathing quickens, and his eyes dart to the empty space in the doorway behind Larry’s head, like he’s planning an escape. He folds his arms protectively over his chest, his nails digging into his hoodie sleeves.

He takes a few deep, uneven breaths.

“It’s Evan,” he manages. “It’s Evan. You’ve um. Met him.”

_Evan._ Not Evelyn or Eva or Evangeline. 

_Evan. It’s a boy. It’s…he’s…._

Larry just stands there as it sinks in – _that soft-spoken boy with the fearful expression, Evan. Connor’s friend Evan. Connor doesn’t have a girlfriend. He has…_

"Well," Larry says, because he's still trying to figure out what to say.

"Well."

Connor doesn't say anything, but makes an odd, choked kind of sound, as though he's tried to swallow but his throat just won't cooperate.

"Well," Larry finally says for the third time, "Your mother's planning on making that vegan sausage casserole on Wednesday, so maybe you could bring him round for dinner ...any night except that one."

For a moment Larry thinks the joke has fallen flat, because there's a long silence, and Connor makes that choked sound again. But then he looks Larry in the eye, and Larry realizes he's laughing. They laugh together then, and it feels like a weight has been lifted, and there are tears in Connor's eyes but he's not sure if they're from laughter or relief or something else, something that doesn't have a name.

Connor drags the back of his hand over his eyes and lets out a long breath.

It sounds like he's been holding it a long time. Years.

"Thanks," he mumbles. He jams his hands in his pockets and slouches, ducking his head like he doesn't want Larry to see him smile.

“I’m late. He’ll be worried.”

Larry steps aside to let his son pass. He gives him a quick pat on the back as he goes, and Connor doesn’t flinch at the contact.

Not even a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Amazing user Toutu has translated Ev into Chinese! (I'm so sorry, I'm not sure if it's Mandarin or Cantonese!) I'm so SO humbled and just blown away that someone would put so much effort into doing this, thank you so much Toutu! ❤️
> 
> Read it here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545347


End file.
